


Aloft

by CopperBeech



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a stunt pilot, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Flying, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Heathrow, Humor, M/M, Mild Smut, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 04:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21069857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperBeech/pseuds/CopperBeech
Summary: Aziraphale hasn't exercised his wings in far too long.Crowley tempts him into some aerial stunts.“Oh, come on. It's been ages. Let’s. Get ’em out, really stretch ’em. I can tell you’re just gagging for it. Nearly knocked over the lamp last time we – ““Well, when you – that thing with – ‘Crowley gently pried the wineglass out of Aziraphale’s hand and set it down. “Let’s do it. Moon’s up now, nice night, be a lark. Race the planes out at Heathrow, get out of the city for a bit – ““Crowley, you may be a fiend for speed, but I am not. And you like the city.”Instead of answering, Crowley stood, tipping his head back with a blissful sigh as splendid, glossy black wings unfolded from his shoulders.





	Aloft

**Author's Note:**

> I saw some beautiful wing art both here (CynSyn, again: "Jump Into My Wings") and in the accounts I follow on Tumblr (which I still can't really figure out for the life of me), and well, one thing led to another.
> 
> AND NOW! Months after original publication, there's actual (very nsfw!) art by [magicbubblepipe!](https://twitter.com/magicbubblepipe)

“D’ye ever miss it?”

Crowley’s voice broke into Aziraphale’s reverie. On warm, clear nights like this they liked to take a blanket and a bottle up to the roof, and the angel had been looking up at the stars, trying to remember their names – the real ones, not the ones astronomers gave them.

“Miss what, dear? I was miles away.”

“Flying. You ever feel the urge to get out the old wings and give them a really good go?”

“There – well, there’s hardly any place to do it any more. And it was, ah, frowned upon Upstairs. Not alarming the mortals. Save it for manifestations, and so on.”

“Not answering to our Head Offices any more, are we?”

“I suppose not. Still…”

“Oh, come on. It's been ages. Let’s. Get ’em out, really stretch ’em. I can tell you’re just gagging for it. Nearly knocked over the lamp last time we – “

“Well, when you – that thing with – ‘

Crowley gently pried the wineglass out of Aziraphale’s hand and set it down. “Let’s do it. Moon’s up now, nice night, be a lark. Race the planes out at Heathrow, get out of the city for a bit – “

“Crowley, you may be a fiend for speed, but I am _not._ And you _like_ the city.”

Instead of answering, Crowley stood, tipping his head back with a blissful sigh as splendid, glossy black wings unfolded from his shoulders, spanning almost twice his height and curving above his head. Aziraphale barely avoided their swoop as the demon launched himself into thin air, dipping below the level of the roof; circled up again and hovered, reaching to seize the angel’s wrists.

“Come on.”

“Crowley – eeeep!!!” Aziraphale felt the roof fall away from his feet as Crowley pulled him up to dangle dangerously over the London rooftops. “People will see – “

“No one looks up!” Crowley ever so slowly loosened his grip until the angel, slipping, had no choice but to snap out wings that, unlike his companion's, sifted a faint, rainbow-riddled light from their undersides, righting himself with an awkward twist and then sliding into a smooth climb.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

The roofs of Mayfair were already pulling away, the individual automobile headlights dissolving into twinkling strings like the light tubing in a cheap chip-shop window. An exhilarating little updraft buoyed his pinions. Ahead of him, Crowley twisted arms snugly together above his head, speeding up a little as the extended position cut the wind drag. Aziraphale preferred flying with his arms sleeked tightly into the small of his back. It was a little cold up here; he regretted leaving his jacket on the blanket. Well, it was just a short spin.

Except that didn’t seem to be Crowley’s idea. Diving and rising again, he lifted the huge wings in a slow double beat to gain another few yards of lift and streaked away westward. Up here there were buffeting little gusts, and Aziraphale, out of practice, flew choppily until sense memory reminded him how to correct. By that time Crowley had pulled away in front of him, begun to double back; he swooped low, then climbed to hover in front of the angel, grinning hugely in the faint light of Aziraphale’s wings. “Brilliant, right? Let’s go scare some pilots.”

“_Crowley – "  
_

“Where did you think the gremlin stories came from?”

“_Crowley – _you’ll get us both discorporated!”

But the demon had pulled away again. Crowley had been navigating along the loops of the Thames below; now he seemed to be tracking the glittering line of the M4, heading straight for Heathrow. Aziraphale huffed and followed. There was one disgruntled angel in the Corporations Division whose beef with Gabriel, whatever it was, would probably be enough to stretch to an undocumented restoration – after the "Hellfire incident" he'd received some unexpected fan mail, which he kept in the locking drawer of his desk – but he wasn’t sure that would also include accommodating a demon, and if the need ever arose, he could only hope Crowley would be able to make himself so annoying in Hell that they’d sort him out just to be rid of him. Or maybe Adam would be so kind, if he could find a way to explain.

Blinking lights from the tower and a late international takeoff showed ahead. He couldn’t see Crowley, and it was getting noisier. Suddenly hands clamped around his ankles. He lurched, righted himself, heard the demon shout “Straight ahead! We’ll get under it!”

“Have you lost your – “

Crowley released him, pulled ahead, starting a dive that would put him in the wake of the Airbus as it lifted. Aziraphale put on a burst of speed, managed to grab one ankle, then felt his stomach turn over as the airstream pulled them both along before Crowley dove again, doing a roll that left Aziraphale floundering but still firmly attached.

“Playing chicken with aeroplanes is _not_ my – “

Somehow Crowley broke free, and the next moment, he’d swooped up on Aziraphale from behind, clamped close, arms around his waist, heels hooked in front of his ankles.

“Sync up,” he half-shouted in Aziraphale’s ear as they dropped altitude. “One, two, that’s right – “ Wings beating in unison, they lifted again. With Crowley against his back his wings didn't have full play, but he could extend them in a sort of biplane arrangement. The demon's wings opened at a distinctly different angle to his own, actually creating a larger airfoil that let them settle into an almost effortless cruise.

Crowley’s tongue flicked up behind his ear. A familiar, hard heat pressed against his backside.

“Always gets me like this,” said Crowley more softly, almost inaudibly in that rush of air. He was steering them low across the approach path over the Staines Reservoir, veering out towards the darker landscape of Windsor Great Park. “That’s it, just come along with me...” His hips were rocking gently as they flew, and Aziraphale tried to be furious with him and failed miserably. The diamond lavaliere of the M25 passed under them.

“If you’re going to do this at least _land – “_

“Nope,” said Crowley, running his hand down the angel’s soft belly. “Well, look what I found.”

“I can’t keep steady if you do that – “

A cold rush hit the angel’s skin, and he discovered he was now not only several hundred feet up in the air and excited in a way that was not exactly aiding him in navigation, but entirely naked. So was Crowley. Aziraphale emitted a yip of shock.

“Neatly folded back at the flat,” Crowley said, his hand coaxing, teasing. “Keep in time, here, I’m giving you the rhythm.”

“This – " Aziraphale gasped. “Is completely obscene.”

**<img src="" />**

“Yes, isn’t it?” said Crowley deliciously. “Just keep going – “ He was moving in the same beat, already leaking a little slickness, gliding against the cleft between the angel’s plump buttocks. “Just go with it, that’s it…” Aziraphale was absolutely terrified, and so aroused that a long whine escaped his lips to be carried away by the wind. Crowley kept working his hand in rhythm, tightening, relaxing, the other arm cinched tight around the angel's middle, taking more of their weight with his wings as Aziraphale veered between panic and urgency. He banked, turning in a long, graceful parabola, crying out a little sharply behind the angel’s ear. They were zigzagging above the park now, far from any eyes on the ground (Aziraphale prayed, anyway), and Crowley’s breathing grew more ragged even though he was managing to keep them aloft.

Aziraphale closed his eyes as he felt Crowley tauten and begin to spill hotly against the small of his back, the wingbeat turning into a jagged flurry; then, at a sudden lurch in his stomach, his eyes flew open and he saw the moon-raddled sheen of Virginia Water coming up at them. Crowley was still panting into his neck, still trying to keep his hand moving on Aziraphale’s cock, which was, insanely, filling up harder, everything in his belly feeling weightless and tight at the same time.

“Crowley!” he shouted, trying to right them and succeeding only in tangling their wingtips. “_Do_ pull up! No, not like that – _fly, _dear!” Crowley made an inarticulate noise in his ear and began to get control of his wingbeats. They came so close to the water that Aziraphale could see his own pale shape in a ripply reflection; then he felt them start to climb, Crowley maddeningly regaining control of his stroking hand as well, banking and swerving until they were skimming in over dry land, just as Aziraphale gushed into his palm, uttering a sound like someone who’d been punched.

“Pull your wings in, beautiful, I’ve got us,” said Crowley, and seconds later the angel’s feet were brushing close-mown grass, and then they were rolling over one another.

They came to rest at last, naked, spattered with demonic and angelic bodily fluids, grass clippings, and the night dews, and Crowley was laughing until the tears came, gasping and stifling the sound as best he could.

Aziraphale looked around him. They had come down on a ridiculously large lot with a ridiculously large house set well back in it. It looked like the kind of place that had numerous burglar alarms and possibly a guard dog, and he could swear that the floodlight cutting across a part of the manicured slope – fortunately angled away from them – hadn’t been lit a moment ago. They had probably tripped a motion sensor in their final approach.

“Crowley, we-are-in-the-middle-of-someone’s-lawn. Get control of yourself. It would be a miracle if we got out of this without being seen – “

“That’s right,” giggled Crowley, threw his arms around Aziraphale and created a lurching torque in the space around them that tumbled them out, in an instant, onto the picnic blanket on his building’s roof.

”_My dear!_ Our clothes are in your flat – “

“Didn’t want to leave the wine and the blanket up here.”

“At least I have my jacket – ”

He looked over at Crowley, who had come to rest beside him, still shaking with laughter, and suddenly could do nothing but seize him and cover the demon’s mouth with his own, already filling up again.

* * *

“It’s three in the morning. No one’s going to see us.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You are, a little. ‘S’why I love you.”

Crowley was carrying the wine bottle, Aziraphale the glasses. He supposed he was a bit absurd in his spectacles, morning coat and nothing else, but he was riding a waning exhilaration as if the air were still beating around him. Crowley, wrapped in the picnic blanket, worked the lock with a minor miracle.

“We could have just gotten back into your flat from the roof that way.”

“This is about all the miracle I've got left for the night. You?"

Aziraphale admitted to himself that he felt fairly wrung out.

“Finish this off?” said Crowley, holding up the wine.

“I do think we need to – ah – get clean.”

“Do both,” said Crowley. “Nice hot bath’ll do you good after that workout. I’ll start one.” Crowley's bath was luxurious, accommodating, and full of hanging plants.

“Crowley – ?”

The demon, already heading toward the bath, trailing his blanket finery, looked back. “Yes?”

“You’re absolutely mad.”

Crowley quirked an eyebrow at him. "And?"

“And that’s why I love _you._”

“Tell me more reasons, angel. Got all night.”

“I just hope we didn’t shock anyone – “

“Ahh, who gives a flying fuck if – “

_“Crowley.”_ The angel's expression was genuinely pained.

Crowley grinned -- unrepentantly. As, of course, he would.

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> I used to know a Navy pilot who collected instances of "flat-hatting" -- risky flying stunts that took a plane at high speed close to the surface. One image of a fighter plane banking just a few feet above the water off the portside of an aircraft carrier stuck with me, and surfaced from the depths of my dark and dirty mind as soon as I had the idea for this.
> 
> I'm sure that at least some of this is aerodynamically infeasible, but I couldn't resist writing it anyway. And I hope no one hates me too much for Crowley's last line of dialogue. It came to me after I'd already sketched the story out, pinky swear I didn't write my way into it.
> 
> If you liked, share, reblog, comment! Come say hello on Tumblr @CopperPlateBeech


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